


Gone Away

by Sayl



Category: Fire Emblem: Kakusei | Fire Emblem: Awakening
Genre: F/M, Fluff and Angst, Mild Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-12
Updated: 2018-08-12
Packaged: 2019-06-26 06:12:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,316
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15657393
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sayl/pseuds/Sayl
Summary: Despite being married, Tharja often leaves Regna Ferox in search of warmer climates. And Lon'qu begins to worry that she's regretting choosing him.





	Gone Away

**Author's Note:**

> No I haven't forgot about my fic series, it's just comin along slow. So this is something in the meantime because I love Lon'qu/Tharja and there just isn't any content out there for them.

    Sweat pours from Lon’qu’s brow as he swings his blade again, steel connecting with steel over and over in rapid succession. The time for show had long passed: it was now down to mettle. The thunder of clashing blades echoed through the arena, nearly drowned out by the roaring crowds. Regna Ferox hadn’t seen a battle like this in quite a while.  


    Though Falchion was a blade of legend, it wasn’t the sword that kept Lon’qu on the ropes. The Exalt of Ylisse was renowned with a blade, having won Flavia’s power a few years back. But he hadn’t been fighting Lon’qu then. Chrom didn’t have the situational advantages over him that Lucina had.

    Lon’qu was Basilio’s champion again, and he’d be damned if he lost this fight now. Not when it’s his last chance.

    He grunts with each impact of the hurricane of steel weighing down his arms with every hit. But he refuses to relinquish. Chrom’s own warcries are sounding more strained by the minute. He was one of the most difficult opponents the Feroxi had ever faced, but he wasn’t unbeatable. Lon’qu had prepared for exactly this moment. Chrom had more skill, more training. But Lon’qu had the experience and discipline. It could go either way.

    For minutes, they clash against one another with furious speed and precision, a stalemate to wear the other down. But if there’s a few things Lon’qu had learned over the years, it’s that you can’t always win by pure strength and skill.

    He waits for another powerful blow from Chrom, but rather than block, he feints the other way, throwing his stance incredibly low. Chrom’s follow-through wasn’t controlled, and the powerful swing left him off balance when it didn’t have Lon’qu’s blade to stop it. That brief moment was all the Feroxi needed, and he brings the hilt of his blade down and back against the Exalt’s knee.

    The double blow to his balance is enough to topple him. Chrom hits the ground, and Lon’qu acts fast. Before Chrom can recover (which was incredibly quickly), he turns his blade on the man, thrusting it down. He freezes, the tip centimeters from his opponent’s throat. Chrom freezes, panting as he stares up.

    The explosion of cheering that engulfs the air marks the official victory. Khan Basilio returns to power for the next few years.

* * *

 

    When the dust clears, there’s a celebration for the Khan’s coronation. Though really, it’s mostly an excuse to drink, eat and shout to Basilio’s victory. Regna Ferox wasn’t exactly known for ceremonies. Lon’qu only stays as long as he needs to show his support for his Khan, but he doesn’t care for the attention. Thankfully, that is well known, as most don’t approach him over the victory, save for the Exalt of Ylisse himself.

    “I have to hand it to you, Lon’qu. I haven’t had a fight like that in a long time. You’ve changed your style since we last sparred during the war.” The smile on his face shows he genuinely means what he says, his way of congratulating his opponent on the victory.

    _**“**  Much has happened since then. But I knew this day would come. I’d have it no other way, though. A fierce opponent for my final battle in Arena Ferox  **.”**_

    Chrom chuckles in response. “Is that why you refused to train with me after a while?”

    A slight smirk graces Lon’qu’s features. _ **“** Perhaps **.”**_

    The Exalt nods, knowing his assumption is right. “Well played. This is really your last Tournament then?”

  _**“** For deciding which Khan is in power, yes **.”**_  But there were many tournaments in Ferox aside from this one, and he had every intention of fighting in them still. _**“** But only foreigners can be chosen to champion the Khans in this fight. And...I think it’s time I tossed that title. This is my home, and I want to make that official **.”**_  He would remain Basilio’s right hand man, of course. But as a Citizen of Regna Ferox. And gaining that citizenship would be his next true test.

    And only then can he take on his greatest challenge yet.

    Chrom smiles in return, clapping a hand on Lon’qu’s shoulder in friendly encouragement. “Well, I can certainly understand that. Just don’t forget to visit us a little more. You are a Shepherd after all, and that’s a title you can’t toss.”

    Lon’qu just gives a nod. Truth be told, he is overdue for a trip to Ylisse.

    The Exalt removes his hand, placing both on his hips with a light exhale. “So! How’s Tharja? Is she here?”

    Immediately, Lon’qu’s mood darkens. And although it isn’t with anger, it’s obvious by the expression that suddenly appears on his face. And Chrom doesn’t miss it, blinking as he furrows his brows in a concerned confusion.

_**“** …………………..I don’t know. I haven’t seen her in a month **.”**_

    And thanks to his own illiteracy, he hasn’t heard from her either.

    “ ….Again? Is everything alright between you two? I know she doesn’t like the cold, but ...”

    _ **“** Our relationship is our business  **.”**_  His tone is stern and final, but it silences the topic. It wasn’t that he and Tharja necessarily had troubles between each other...But being reminded of her absences dampened his mood. He simply doesn’t like to talk about it, but to phrase it any other way would not stop the other man’s prying. Chrom always wanted to help...even if his assistance wasn’t wanted or needed.

    And it effectively freezes the topic from proceeding, but leaves a somewhat bitter aftertaste in the air between them the rest of the night.

* * *

 

    By the time the festivities are over, his heart-rate has finally gone down. Though the thrill of his victory had kept him afloat, still his shoulders feel weighed down. He returns home, not deflated, but still lacking the usual posture of a victor.

    But when walks in the door,, his pulse skips altogether. It’s warmer in here than he usually leaves it, he can hear the crackle of a fire: One he definitely didn’t set before he left that afternoon.

    He walks in further, entering the main room to find that he isn’t alone. Laying across the settee on her back is his wife, one leg crossed over the other as they drape over the armrest with her arms folded under her chest. She’s wearing a small loose shirt of dark cloth, a soft, slitted skirt to match, suggesting she’s been there for a while. He freezes in place, staring at her like she’s an illusion. Not a word leaves him.

    So Tharja is the one to break the silence. “Are you just going to gawk? Don’t tell me I was gone so long that fear of yours has come back.” Though the words might sound harsh to the unfamiliar, he can tell when she’s teasing him.

    _ **“**  When did you get here  **?”**  _Though his tone is even, he can’t quite hide the relief that laces it. 

    “That depends on what you mean by ‘here’,” she shrugs. “I’ve only been in the house for a few hours. Do you always leave it so frigid in here when I’m not home?”

    _ **“**  Generally, yes **.”**  _Though he answers the question seemingly absent-mindedly, his thoughts are racing to interpret what she means. If she’s only been in the house for a few hours, did that mean she was in Regna Ferox before then? The last few hours he’s been at the post-tournament celebration…

     _ **“**  You were at the Tournament, weren’t you  **?”**_

    A crooked smile creeps to her face at his revelation. She sits up, leaning forward as she maintains eye contact. “Did you think I was going to miss watching you knock Chrom around in front of everyone? Of course I was there.” One hand lifts to support her chin on the palm, smirk still present. “And I do like watching you fight dirty.”

    He purses his lips in disagreement. _ **“**  I didn’t fight dirty  **.”**_

    Tharja shrugs, dismissing his rebuttal. “Debatable.” Her index finger taps against her cheek a few times before she turns, swinging her exposed legs off the armrest so her feet rest on the ground. As she stands, the folds of her skirt cascade down from where it had bunched up around her hips. He finds that he’s staring still, and moves his gaze up as she approaches him. “Besides, I’m hardly admonishing you for it. If you’re going to make this your last fight, you’d better win.”

    By now she’s standing right in front of him, nearly chest to chest. She’s close enough that he can feel her body heat even through his clothes, and his heartbeat is steadily increasing with every inch that closed between them. Her arms lift up, wrapping around the back of his neck like a spider and he finds his own reaching around her back in turn. It’s still strange to him to have any woman be the close without slipping into an outright panic, but he’d moved far past those days with her by now.

    A mild grimace tints her expression, “How are you still sweaty?” The fight was hours ago, after all.

    _ **“**  It’s very warm in here **…”**_ Which was partially true, though part of it was admittedly still a result of the fight and not having a chance to rest or cool off during the following events.

    “Well you can thank this accursed climate for that, I had no choice.”

    _ **“**  Don’t start with that right now **,”**_  he growls, though not out of anger. It’s combination of reasons. Not wanting to be reminded of why she left, not wanting to discuss the weather when he hasn’t seen her in a month....wanting to feel her skin on his and trying to restrain himself.

    But she can read that on him too well. Her arms move, now resting her hands on his shoulders as she drags them down to his chest, slowly and roughly pushing his swordmaster’s coat off. “Get used to the heat, then.”

    His coat falls heavy on the ground around his feet just as her fingers wrap around the fabric of his shirt, pulling him forward. Lon’qu responds in kind, hands quickly moving forward to grab her by the arms as her lips meet his. The urgency in her movements spurs his own, and if the kiss had any innocence at the start it was swiftly snuffed out by passion. Hurried motions tug at each others clothing, heavy exhales breaking this silence in the minuscule intervals their mouths separate for.

    A few moments in, she pushes him back by the shoulders and, after a few backpedaling steps, his back hits the wall. Lon’qu grunts in response as she opens his shirt, shoving it off his shoulders. Finally their lips pull back and he reels his head back as she takes her teeth to his chest, biting at the flesh. A heavy groan rumbles in the back of his throat. Nails dig into his skin as she sinks her fingers into his shoulders. Fire floods his veins, clouding his mind with steam and rendering his unresponsive for a few moments. Tharja’s onslaught continues down his abdominals for a moment before trailing back up. Her fingernails leave indentations of half-moons imprinted on his body…

    Then that fire ignites suddenly. His hands, previously useless, find their purpose. In a blink, they latch onto the sides of her waist, slipping under the hem of her cropped shirt to find skin. Though in their first bouts long ago he’d been cautious and gentle in his touch, she’d quickly taught him to abandon that tendency. She wasn’t something fragile, feared to be broken, and she made that clear.

    His grip is strong, almost commanding as he drags his hands up her torso, carrying the cloth of her shirt with him. In moments it’s off, cast aside haphazardly. Once it is, he reaches for her again, pulling her in and turning them around, pinning her back against that same wall now. Immediately, his mouth darts towards her neck, lavishing the skin with impassioned affection. One hand clutches at her hip as the other slides up her stomach and over her breast, tightening his grip. He can feel the vibrations on her throat against his lips as she moans, and it drives him on further.

    A slender leg slides up his own, hooking around the back of his thigh and pulling him in closer. He allows it, his body now pressed against hers as he pins her to the wall. Tharja’s arms reach around him after, immediately digging her nails into his back before slowly raking down, leaving angry red lines along his skin. It draws another groan from him, shoulders hunching as he arches back. His left hand abandons its post on her hip and slams against the wall to brace him. But the pain, although sudden, is mild compared to most injuries he’s had in his life. It isn’t debilitating, it’s invigorating. While his head is back, she steals another nip at his collarbone, dragging her nails around his hips and towards the buckle on his belt.

    Lon’qu tucks his chin down again, eyes latching onto hers. Her fingers don’t pause, deftly moving on to the fastening on his pants as she holds his gaze with equal intensity. Lon’qu is the one to break it, though, reaching forward to cup her jaw and pull her lips back to his with wanton hunger. Her mouth opens to him, returning the kiss with more fervor as he pulls her down, the both of them sliding down to the floor in a tangle of limbs and loose clothing.

* * *

 

    Later, they both find themselves on the settee. He’s lying across it on his back, his only cover the blanket that Tharja has wrapped over her shoulders and draped over his waist and legs as she sits tucked in the small space of cushion between the backrest and his hips. His skin glistens with sweat, though she doesn’t seem to have the same problem. A few minutes had passed in silence, enough to finally calm their labored breaths. His chest now rises and falls steadily, gaze cast up at the ceiling.  


    In the moment, the release had been a welcome distraction from the unpleasant worries that had shadowed him that night. But now as his pulse slows and his head clears, they come crawling back to claw at him. Still staring upward, he finally speaks, his tone little more than a solemn mutter.

  _ **“** Do you hate it here so much **?”**_

    At first, she doesn’t quite seem to understand exactly what he means by that. “You know I have little care for this country and its climate.”

    He tucks his chin into his chest, head lifting just enough to look at her now. His gaze is piercing, laced with questioning and also mild annoyance. He isn’t asking her if she hates the cold.

    Dark brows knit together, barely visible past her bangs. Tharja sighs at first, though it sounds reminiscent of a groan. She doesn’t respond right away, pausing for a moment as she organizes her thoughts.

    “Don’t be an idiot. I don’t regret marrying you and coming here, if that’s what you mean.”

    Lon’qu doesn’t say anything, but he tilts his head back toward the ceiling again. The huff of an exhale that leaves him is a subtle hint that he isn’t truly convinced.

    And she doesn’t miss it. “Do you not realize I only leave when you are absent?”

    The skeptical look he gives her is enough of an answer. Tharja rolls her eyes. “But you can be so daft, I swear. Yes, I leave you here, sometimes for weeks at a time. But if you would pay attention to the patterns, you would see that I do so when you are occupied with one of the West Oaf’s jobs or you throw yourself into training day and night to prepare for some tournament. You are the reason I tolerate this place, so when you are gone more than you are here, I go back to Plegia.”

    _ **“** …….I see  **…”**_ He mulls over the information she’s just divulged, realizing that the patterns did line up with her claim. Though he isn’t sure how to respond. The reason he remained in Ferox was because of his duties. He couldn’t very well just cease them. But the thought that it was causing her to leave…

    “Do not misunderstand me,” she warns, having a solid guess as to what he’s thinking. “I don’t expect you to not do these things. Even if you did, it would not stop me from going back. I don’t hate it here because you don’t trap me here.”

    A shallow relief starts to wash over him, as he realizes what she’s telling him. Though he and Tharja had much in common and were in many ways very similar, in other ways they were very different people. Perhaps he didn’t know the full implications of what would happen in the end when they decided to marry, but he did know that it wouldn’t be easy. There would have to be compromises, sacrifices. He knows had he agreed to move to Plegia with her, he would have returned to Ferox repeatedly.

    _**“** You only left for a month  **,”**  _he points out, a new realization coming to him. _**“**  I’ve been training for this tournament for three **.”**_

    “Three seemed excessive.” An impish smirk accompanies the admission.

    He mirrors that smile, if only briefly.  _ **“**  Things won’t be changing anytime soon. I’m giving up my title as Champion, but I will continue to be Basilio’s right hand, and I have more trials to prepare for  **.”**_

    She fiddles with the fringe at the edge of the blanket as he speaks, eyes lifting to glimpse up at him as she does. “You told me you’re going to become an official citizen of Ferox by means of some barbaric series of physical tests….” She trails off, brow raising with curiosity in hopes that there’s more to it than that.

    _ **“**  To start, yes  **.”**_  He lifts his arms up, intertwining his fingers and resting his hands behind his head. The usual confidence in his voice is starting to return.

    Ankles crossed, she wraps her arms around her knees, leaning forward a bit. “I thought that sounded a little paltry for you...You’re going to work your way up.” It’s not a question, she knows.

_**“** To West Khan **,”**_  he confirms, the sideways smile now appearing and remaining on his face.

    “Heheh...I knew it. I haven’t seen you this riled up in a while...And the old man’s practically been grooming you for the position.”

    Perhaps there was truth in that. Though it made no difference, as he knew Basilio would never hand down that position unless it was earned. And Lon’qu knew he was still years away from reaching that point.  _ **“**  It’s a long time for you to endure the cold  **.”**_

    Tharja leans further forward, shifting onto her knees. The blanket slides off her bare shoulders, her hands resting on either side of his chest as she hovers over him. Black locks cascade down, tickling at his chest as she stares down at him, slowly lowering herself down with a devilish grin.

    “I’ll just have to sap the heat out of you to survive, then.”

    A brief, low chuckle leaves him as she lowers herself the rest of the way. Skin on skin, she rests her chest against his and places a slow kiss on his lips, nipping at the bottom lip. Then she pulls away, turning her head to rest it against his shoulder, body relaxing on top of his. His arms move down, loosely wrapping around her, but her last words jostle around in his mind a few moments longer. Did she just mean by physical contact?...or did she mean a hex?

    Gods. He hopes she didn’t mean a hex. He sighs, leaving that worry for another day.


End file.
